


Careless Whisper

by dancey94



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Semi-Public Sex, Weddings, hairdresser!Hannibal, is Hannibal a cannibal tho?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 11:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14377461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancey94/pseuds/dancey94
Summary: On the day before the wedding that Will is invited to, he realises that his hair needs a trim. With almost no other options left, Will enters a salon on his way home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just to make sure - the smut happens in the second chapter ;)  
> (You may skip this one if You want)

The wind ruffles Will’s hair, which is annoying as hell. It reminds him of the fact that he needs to go to a hairdresser, sooner rather than later. And he cannot afford to close the window because it’s also hot as hell and the air conditioning went rogue. Damn, he needs to fix it as soon as he’s home.

But it’s Friday and he’s been ignoring and avoiding and he ended up the way he always ends up – with something that needs to be done in the nick of time. And the universe decided that, of all things, it’s his hair that needs a slight fix. Well, _slight_ is an understatement. It’s way too long now.

Will should have looked for another hairdresser right after he found out Jack was ill. He should have made sure that he’d be neat and ready for the wedding this Saturday. But he didn’t, obviously. He’s had too much on his plate – with a new case and preparing the lectures and with his head being usually someplace else – he couldn’t be bothered to check any recommended hairdressers in his area.

So Will ends up on a Friday afternoon, driving home, with hair falling into his eyes.

And then, he spots a sign. HAIRAPIST HANNIBAL. Funny. And creepy, Will thinks, then sees the time and says, “Fuck it.” He parks the car by the building.

Through the window, Will sees no one inside apart from a hairdresser busy tidying up the seat and the space around the mirror. Great. No customers mean no waiting time. Will enters the salon with a muffled “afternoon” but his entrance is announced by the bell over the door.

“Hello,” the hairdresser says with an overwhelming smile. Well, it’s Friday so the man’s joy is probably justified. Then again, Will can’t imagine greeting anyone with that much enthusiasm.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Will jokes and approaches the seat.

What was a polite smile turns into an obvious amusement. “Please, take a seat,” the man says so gently that Will wonders why he’s not a hypnotiser instead.

“I just need a trim, that’s all.”

“Of course,” the man nods and throws a cape over Will’s upper body in order to prevent his customer from getting dirty. Then, the hairdresser takes a long thoughtful look at Will’s messy curls.

“If I may suggest something,” the man begins, “I would recommend growing it out even longer. You could tie it, braid it or simply wear it down. It would suit you.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Will comments and suddenly does something so out of character that he blushes – he puts a lock behind his ear. Sure, he tells himself that he did it to stop it from falling into his eyes, but there’s more to the gesture. Will rarely bothers to look in the mirror and _really_ look at himself. He barely ever brushes his hair; it’s a success that he washes it. He got used to it being messy. It’s not even that his hair tells how Will is in general, it’s the opposite. He’s so busy with the cases – with looking at other people – that he barely ever looks at himself. And here he is, in a salon, where a stranger suggests something about his appearance that he’s never really cared about.

“You see, if you–”

The man reaches for Will’s hair at the back of the head and stops there. The amused smile disappears. The man gulps, then blinks and regains his composure.

“I might even agree to what you propose but there’s a wedding tomorrow that I need to attend and I probably shouldn’t show up like _this_ ,” Will points at his face rather than his hair but the meaning is clear – the hair is messy and too long.

“I see.” There. The smile returns as the man reaches for a bottle and sprays the liquid over Will’s hair.

Will closes his eyes and hopes to get through the cut as quickly as possible. And then, the hairdresser starts humming. And it’s a song Will knows, an old song, a thing from the past that immediately brings back memories and floods Will with a million thoughts. His peace is disrupted.

_I'm never gonna dance again_

_Guilty feet have got no rhythm_

_Though it's easy to pretend_

_I know you're not a fool_

Will recites the lyrics to the melody the man is providing and suddenly it strikes him – he will _have to_ dance. At least once. How could he not have thought of that before? He’s not bringing plus one but he’s bound to either be asked to dance or be forced by his colleague to ask _someone_ , which would be so much worse.

But maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to simply sit there and pretend to be happy for the colleague and leave early and–

“When you said there’s a wedding you need to attend, you didn’t mean your own wedding, did you?” the hairdresser asks out of the sudden, interrupting Will’s current of thoughts.

“No. Definitely not. Just a f-, uh, colleague,” Will explains and notices the hairdresser’s smirk in the mirror. Odd.

“Right. So the way I see it is I trim the hair in its entirety but leave the front a bit longer so that you could put it to the side. With a single loose curl.”

“Just don’t make me look like a Ken doll or anything.”

“As you wish,” the man says as he reaches for a comb and a pair of scissors.

It’ll be a matter of minutes now so Will sighs with relief and closes his eyes again. It’s nice that Bev invited him to her wedding but did she really have to? Couldn’t he just send a card, wish her all the best and be done with it. _Nobody_ will be pleased about Will’s presence there. And Alana–

_I should've known better than to cheat a friend_

_And waste the chance that I've been given_

_So I'm never gonna dance again_

_The way I danced with you_

Oh, please, not the humming again. Stop! Will begs in his head and makes a mental note not to come back here ever again. Never. It started so well – with no radio, no other customers, no noise to block – and the man had to ruin it with his tendency to hum. Sure, the man has a nice voice, Will has to admit. He could listen to this voice on a rough night, when sleep won’t pay him a visit. But right now this song being hummed by this man is just too much.

“Please, stop,” Will says and immediately blushes again because it’s not that the man is annoying; it’s the fact that it’s Friday afternoon and all Will wants to hear after a whole week of hard work is nothing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just tired.”

“I understand. I’ll stop now.”

Will returns the polite smile and closes his eyes yet again. It feels nice to just sit there and have someone deal with his hair. Will can already feel that it’s shorter, cut in a way that won’t block his sight. Alright, so he’s nearly ready. All that’s left is to have a long thorough shower and dress up nicely. Show up on time, be nice, smile, and everything will go smoothly.

Will nearly moans when he feels the warm air blowing on his head and gentle fingers running through his hair. Then, the fingers are replaced by a professional comb and it’s not that pleasant anymore but still fine. When Will opens his eyes, he almost can’t recognise himself in the mirror hanging before him. The hair is shorter but also glossy and in a matter of seconds a single curl falls loosely on Will’s forehead.

“You can push it aside or let it hang there,” the hairdresser says with pure delight in his eyes.

“Wow,” is all Will’s comment because he doesn’t know how to describe the result of the magic trick that the man just performed. “You were right. It looks good.”

The man offers a shy smile this time and gently disentangles Will from the cape. There, all done. Wordless payment with exchanging smiles instead follows and then Will is free to go. He gets in his car and the temptation to see himself again takes over him so he uses the sun visor mirror. The curl is still there, hanging patiently. Then, Will shifts his gaze to the salon and sees the hairdresser cleaning the mess. An odd but talented man. A man with a calm, deep voice and a sense of beauty rarely met these days.

Will scratches the last mental note and makes a new one: visit the salon again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here's the second part for anyone interested :) have fun, kiddos :D

Will puts on the suit and looks at himself in the mirror. He’s still surprised at the image he sees. It’s just his hair and it was merely cut but the transformation Will underwent the day before still feels overwhelming.

Will runs a hand through his hair and remembers the way the man’s fingers caressed his skull. He will definitely need to return to the salon.

Washed, perfumed and suited up, Will is ready to shine. Or rather, he feels comfortable going to the wedding without hiding under the table.

The ceremony at the registry office is nice and short. The vows are not overly cheesy, thanks Bev. Will is only surprised at the number of guests and the fact that he’s one of them. He likes Bev and Bev seems to like him but she knows him, and yet she decided to invite him. Should he start calling her a friend?

Will is sitting at the back so he sees everyone, well, everyone’s heads. He examines the various hairdos, which reminds him of the man who did his own hair. Was Will inexcusably rude? Perhaps he could listen to the humming without being unnecessarily irritable. He should–

Suddenly, everyone leaves. So, it’s over. It’s done. Time for the reception.

Right at the entrance to the wedding house Will grabs the flute and the toast is made. Then, everything seems to go at a fast-forward pace. The first dance is romantic enough but without the cringe-inducing cuddling or the dirty-dancing lifting part. Then, the other couples join in and the dancefloor is full of joyful people swaying in tune with the music.

Will goes to the bathroom and when he returns, the first course is served. Great. He’ll be fine, he thinks. He’ll allow himself a few drinks, stay for the cake and then leave quietly.

During the meal, Will hears people around him talk. It’s a never-ending list of apparently unimportant things which, given the circumstances, suddenly turn out extremely significant. Like, where someone bought a dress or how much it cost or where someone had their nails polished or how someone else looked like they’ve lost a lot of weight. And then the usual wedding talk: how the young couple seems happy and how curious whether they plan to have a kid and stuff. Then, finally, the conversation is hijacked to the most recent and more general topics. Still, Will finds himself among people interested in sports, politics and social matters and, obviously, he’s surrounded by experts.

Then, another round on the dancefloor begins so Will approaches the bar. As he’s waiting for the whiskey he ordered, he hears a familiar voice.

“Can I have two glasses of red wine, please?”

It’s an instinctual reaction; his body moves faster than his mind can raise the alarm. Before he knows it, Will turns and sees a face matching the voice. Of course. But how? Why?

“Strange seeing you here,” Will says with a slight frown.

“It would appear we have mutual friends,” the man responds, offering the familiar polite smile. “You look stunning, if I may say so.”

“Yeah, can’t help but think that it’s mostly the hair,” Will teases as he reaches for the glass of whiskey.

“Will! My god, how have I not spoken to you yet? You. Look. Gorgeous.”

And here it is. Here _she_ is.

“So do you, Alana.” Play nice. Be nice. Don’t be weird.

“I see you’ve met Hannibal. What’s your impression? Isn’t he fabulous? If there’s anyone that the word could describe, it’s him.”

“Is he–”

“Hannibal agreed to come here with me because I promised him there’d be plenty of single men.”

Alana’s stance, her gestures and the way she speaks indicate she’s had a few drinks already. Her honesty becomes a tool sharper than usual.

“I’ll be there with the wine in a second,” Hannibal reassures so Alana grins, looks at Hannibal, then winks at Will.

It’s strange to see her so playful and carefree. It’s also reliving. Alana pats Hannibal on the shoulder and returns to her seat by the table.

“I don’t think you should bring her any more wine,” Will remarks.

“Oh, I don’t intend to. I don’t even believe she _wants_ to have any more. She just asked me to bring it when she saw you by the bar.”

“How cunning.”

Hannibal is given the two glasses he asked for when the song playing fades and transforms into a familiar tune. Will chuckles and sips his whiskey, while Hannibal smiles shyly and holds out a hand.

“Would you do me the honour?”

Will frowns, looks around, looks at Alana and then at the glass of whiskey in his hand. Fuck it. He gulps the rest of the whiskey and places the empty glass on the bar.

Hannibal’s hand is warm and soft. It doesn’t offer stability, though. Hannibal leads them to the dancefloor only seemingly.

The real confusion begins when they reach an unoccupied space among the many couples. Hannibal stops and looks at their feet, while Will, emboldened by drink, places his right hand on Hannibal’s waist and grabs Hannibal’s right hand in his other one. He can do it, he can lead.

A quick check around if anyone’s staring at them with disgust or surprise – no one is – and Will starts swaying. His feet drag over the floor with the music, pleasantly following Hannibal’s feet.

_I'm never gonna dance again_

_Guilty feet have got no rhythm_

_Though it's easy to pretend_

_I know you're not a fool_

Will wonders if any second now he’ll hear Hannibal hum and the thought makes him shudder with suppressed laughter.

“You should’ve expected that song to be played at a wedding,” Hannibal remarks while Will tries to figure out if it was purely coincidental or if there was a scheme behind all of this. If what Hannibal told him was true, then Alana did want to introduce Hannibal to Will. She had it all planned, didn’t she? But even the shrewd Alana could not have predicted that on the last day before the wedding Will would end up in Hannibal’s salon, in a pressing need of a hairdresser.

“How do you know Alana?” Will asks because that must be an interesting story.

“From university. We have an academic past. But then I pursued a career that doesn’t involve getting into people’s heads. In such a great degree, anyway. It’s fascinating how much people confide in their hairdressers, really.”

At that Will laughs.

“Your visit was refreshing,” Hannibal adds and leans closer to Will so that their faces almost touch.

_Should've known better than to cheat a friend_

_And waste the chance that I've been given_

_So I'm never gonna dance again_

_The way I danced with you_

“It really was. I never had my hair tended to with such care,” Will says.

“I’ve never touched hair that was so...,” lacking the proper word, Hannibal moves his hand from Will’s shoulder to his hair. A sigh of delight and relief follows.

Will suppresses a moan of satisfaction. It’s so pleasant to have this hand again in his hair – touching, caressing, pulling on stray locks and ruining the already fragile perfection. The hell with neat hair! Will wants to have it messed up and by the man who made it _un_ messed in the first place. He wants to shake it and have it stick out in all directions.

“I think we should leave. I _really need_ to go to the bathroom,” Will breathes urgently into Hannibal's ear.

“There are rooms upstairs for the guests, you know.”

“Way too intimate.”

“Are you afraid of intimacy?”

“Are you psychoanalysing me now?”

“Occupational hazard. Let’s just go.”

Will leads them away from the dancefloor and out of the hall. He doesn’t even bother to pretend he feels unwell or anything. If someone notices them leave together, fuck ’em.

The bathroom stalls are comfortably wide. There are all sorts of convenient stuff there. There is a condom vending machine, thank you very much. There are various kinds of soap, tissues and all. Bathroom sex could not become easier. Will didn’t even dream of bringing it to such a level of convenience.

He enters a stall and when Hannibal joins him, he locks the door.

This is, surprisingly enough and against the assumption, _not_ something Will does very often. The tension catches up to him but he places his hands on Hannibal’s shoulder and leans in for the first kiss.

It’s when Hannibal buries his hands in Will’s hair that Will loses his shit. This is so unpredictable – him being undone by such a simple gesture – that he can’t help but moan in his own hopelessness. Having his hair cut was always mechanical, a matter of professional, cold indifference. And even when Hannibal touched his hair for the first time, Will didn’t think he’d never want to have his hair touched by anyone else. But that happened. And Will is completely lost in the kiss that’s lasted too long now to be considered indifferent or mechanical.

Already at that point, Will knows that he wants to lead Hannibal to that same _need_ the man evokes in him. He _knows_ he will use one of the rooms upstairs and knows that he’ll want to do _this_ forever. Just having his hair ruined brings him a wild transcendental satisfaction.

Then, with one hand still in Will’s hair, Hannibal moves to kiss Will’s neck and reaches for his flies with the other hand. Will helps and undoes both their flies. Then, impatiently, Will pushes down Hannibal’s underwear, revealing his erect cock. He strokes it a few times, applies some lube and puts a condom on it. Thank fuck for this storage-bathroom.

With no preparation, Will expects pain but he’s so high right now on the feeling of Hannibal’s hand in his hair and Hannibal’s lips on his neck that he can’t be bothered. He impales himself slowly on Hannibal’s cock with a groan and tightly pursed lips.

“Aren’t we going too fast?” Hannibal asks, his voice strained.

“We are. I don’t care. Do you?”

 “As long as I’m not hurting you, no.”

“Well, you’re not. Move. Deeper.”

Will feels his hair being pulled and suddenly, he’s floating, flying, up in the air. Then, his back hits the wall and he’s being pounded into with such feral force, he thinks he’s going to faint. One thrust after another, Hannibal splits Will into million tiny pieces.

Will reaches behind to entwine his fingers with Hannibal’s, buried still in the hair. He’s so close. It’ll take one stroke now and he’ll be finished. Done.

Will pants with his head turned towards the ceiling as if he’s summoning a deity that will let him last a bit longer. But the deities are deaf and Hannibal pushes his cock even deeper into Will, bringing himself to completion. Then, with one in the hair, Hannibal strokes Will with the other, fulfilling the prophecy and making Will spill all over himself.

The men rest with their heads on the other’s shoulder. Will’s feet land on the floor; he’s grounded. He returns to earth.

“You know what I’ve just realised?” Hannibal asks, giggling. “We’ve not been properly introduced to each other.”

Oh yeah. Will remembers the sign HAIRAPIST HANNIBAL over the entrance to the man’s salon but he never gave a thought as to whether or not the man was the owner, the hairapist himself. Now, with the knowledge about the man’s academic background, it all makes sense.

“I’m Will. Pleased to meet you.”

“I’m Hannibal. The pleasure is mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> i got a burst of inspiration and just had to put it to words :) hope You enjoyed the little story ^^


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